Piano Man
by TeamPiper
Summary: Percy just wants to get through one piano rehearsal without a noise complaint from his neighbors. Fortunately, the girl living upstairs has a little request on her mind. Piano!AU


**Super short one-shot I wrote a few weeks ago- figured I might as well share! I'm actually really struggling with a title for this piece. If you have any ideas, leave them in the comments!** **Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

There is no doubt in my mind that piano is the best instrument to play. I mean, think about it: you're at a fancy party, and you feel like impressing people, and look! There you have it! A beautiful, grand piano that hasn't been played in 7 years just waiting for you to stroke the keys. And then, boom. Everyone at the party realizes what a talented person you are. I mean, you can't pull this kind of stuff with any other instrument. "Oh, just wait until I whip out my French horn! That'll impress 'em. One sec, though. I gotta clean my spit out of the valve."

No one likes a French horn player.

Of course, I got lucky being the natural spawn of _the_ Sally Jackson. Now, odds are, all you normal people out there who don't spent hours slaving away over YouTube watching classical piano players, have probably never heard of Sally Jackson. Well, I'll get you up to date: she's a pretty big deal. Not to brag or anything, but my mother is one of the most famous concert pianists in the nation.

That came across a little braggy- sorry. But Mom had me hunched over the piano bench for as long as I can remember. Everyone who knew anything about classical music was aware of my birth, and was creepily interested in my life.

I'm kind of like the North West of the Piano world. (Although, I doubt 'Percy Jackson' really has the same ring to it.)

Anyway, I grew up playing recital after recital after recital, and honestly it's kind of draining. But I guess it was all worth it because with a little help from my mom, I found myself studying piano at the Curtis Institute of Music in Philly. Perhaps you've heard of it? It's one of the best music schools in the country.

Sorry, I'm bragging again.

After an intense four years of piano study, and two years of pure "what the hell do you do with a degree in piano performance," I found myself where I am today: living it up in New York City.

Turns out playing piano for a Broadway show actually has some decent pay.

I'm currently in a position I find myself in quite frequently; it's a Thursday afternoon, I don't have another show until 7:00, and I haven't practiced any classical pieces in three days.

The one drawback to living in a New York apartment is that your neighbors are constantly pissed at you anytime you even come close to touching your piano. The number of noise complaints I get a week would astound anyone with a brain cell.

But… I need to get some work done. And it's only 2:00. Hopefully, most people are too busy at work to bother to storm down to my room and complain about my playing too loud.

Eh, what the hell.

I pulled out the all-too-familiar piano bench, and spread out the first piece of sheet music I saw: it was Goldberg Variations written by everyone's favorite German composer, Bach. Half of my brain focused on the intense melody that was scattered across the pages, while the other half asked what the hell kind of parent would name their kid Johann Sebastian Bach, and expect him to not be a super angst ridden writer.

I hardly even noticed where I was in the piece until a loud _thud_ echoed from my doorway.

Great, just what I need. Another complaint.

No… I want to get through this music just once before I deal with my bitching neighbors.

Another thud from outside.

I then tried to direct the entirety of my brain onto the music. For some reason, I had French numbers keeping the beat for me- _un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept-_

Breaking my focus was a slight _whooshing_ noise, symbolizing a piece of paper that had been shoved beneath my door.

Despite everything I had ever learned in school, I slammed my hands down on the keys in frustration, causing an abrupt and clashing halt to the once steady melody. I huffed, pushed myself up from my bench, and stormed over to my door where, sure enough, there was a small note on a white piece of paper.

"You know, this is my job! Sometimes I just gotta practice the damn piano!" I yelled, not sure that anyone could even hear me.

I snatched the note off the floor, and my eyes glanced over it in a haze, searching for the usual words of "too loud" or "shut up".

 _Dear 4C,_

 _If it's not too much trouble, I'd love to hear Beethoven's Sonata Op.106 in B flat major. I know it's a difficult piece, but from what I've been hearing, I doubt you'll have any trouble playing it._

 _Best regards,_

 _5C_

I had to read the note over a few times to make sure I was seeing it right. This wasn't a noise complaint; this was a song request.

"I have this music," I murmured to myself as I hurried back to my piano bench. Flipping through my Beethoven Binder (yes, I have an entire music binder dedicated to Beethoven- Mozart and Bach have their own as well), I managed to track down Sonata Op.106 in B flat major. Perfect.

Before I sat back down at my bench, I opened my windows wide and let the cool New York City air flow into my stuffy apartment. With the windows open, 5C would be able to hear the song much more clearly. Once again sitting down at the bench, I began lightly tapping the keys, my eyes glued strictly onto the new music in front of me.

By the time I neared the end of the piece, I had all but forgotten exactly why I was playing this, and who I was playing it for. Of course, it was a quick reminder when I finished up that last note, and there was a light, single applause coming from outside.

"I hope I played to your satisfaction," I called out, a smile creeping onto my face.

"Above and beyond expectation," a voice said back to me. It was instantly clear to me that the mystery requester was a girl, but that was about all I could decipher.

"Any other requests while I'm playing?"

There was a slight pause of hesitation before the voice replied, "I don't suppose you know Rachmaninov's Sonata No.1?"

That was almost laughable.

"Gimme a second," I smiled, beginning to shuffle through my music again. Fishing it out of my "Miscellaneous Composers- Volume 3" Binder, I set it on the stand, and set my hands on the old ivory keys.

For once, I didn't care how loud I played.


End file.
